


Meant to Be

by Valledorthedragon



Series: Meant to Be and Never Meant [1]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt Prompto Argentum, Hurt/Comfort, MT Prompto Argentum, Near Death Experiences, Noct does a bad, Poor Prompto Argentum, Prompto Argentum Needs a Hug, Sort Of, alternative Zegnautus Keep
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-24
Updated: 2020-06-24
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:01:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24893563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Valledorthedragon/pseuds/Valledorthedragon
Summary: The horrifying truth only his darkest nightmares could conjure, fully realised in this hell called reality, but all too tangibly, terrifyingly real. He’d fought it, rejected it, and run from it his entire life... but in the end, it seemed the truth just wouldn’t be denied.He was a magitek soldier.
Series: Meant to Be and Never Meant [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1938817
Comments: 11
Kudos: 64





	Meant to Be

A world plastered black slowly filtered through his unconscious mind. An ache going bone deep bleeding out into his muscles. For a moment, pain was the only thing that existed- the only thing he could feel the uncomfortable groans of every cell in his body agonising against his desicion to wake. 

He stirred, slowly, in his persuit of consciousness- moving long before any kind of concrete thought could enter his head. Running under pure, mindless instinct that understood only the need to ready his spent, aching muscles to escape. An ongoing, resounding throb ebbing endlessly throughout his entire being- so all-encompassing it was almost a painful kind of easy to drown it out; like tuning out the noise of a crowd compared to a single, nagging voice. Even still, the silent screams of his rousing body seemed determined to make his every waking moment as miserable as possible. He could hardly even gather a sense of self- barely even remember why he was here- but all that he knew of himself was hurting. 

The world around him started to present itself to him- slowly unfolding in brief moments of unsettling clarity. The sight that met his eyes far darker than memory had last served him, but also far harsher. He didn’t remember things being quite so... piercing. Slits of light dashing into his aching skull, completely unfamiliar- scattering, and blinding, at the slightest movements. He didn’t remember the air being quite so dense either- tight and stuffy around his limbs. He almost didn’t even notice that the unusual amount of weight tied to his them- he shouldn’t weigh this much, but he was both too weary, and too focussed on the sheer force of will it took bring around his conscious mind, to notice the extra effort his bone bruised, lanky limbs took to shift themselves... and then, slowly... he noticed the clamp like sensations running along his body- his every bone and length of exposed skin trapped and pinched by a second outer skeleton. There was something weighing down on him- no, it was all around him! 

Panic emerging, but suppressed, in his heart at the smothering sensation of feeling trapped- except... it wasn’t just around him... it was far worse. It was a part of him. His heart jackknifed with terror, anxiety springing free from his control as his thoughts ran manic and incoherent. No, no- what the hell was this?! 

He jerked his arm- heavier than he was used to, but disturbingly no more difficult than if he’d been without the extra weight. It moved with frightening ease- a piercing squeal of metal that accompanied the movement, echoing perfectly the formless fear tearing rampantly through his mind, as he tried to drag himself into something upright. Trying to pull himself away- out of this hideous body trap- but it was no use. It moved with him, in a way that allowed no hope of escape. The attempt only flooding more fear into his mind. He was claustrophobic even in the more spacious tunnels he’d been in- to be stuffed inside a crippling, metal shell? It was suffocating! He swore whatever chest casings were smothering his body were tightening around him- he could scaresly breathe-! 

... and then it sank in, all at once... 

He knew this. He knew exactly what this was- where he was- and most terrifyingly of all... what he was... and by the gods, and everything that existed that governed their world, he wished no more than to be taken out of it. He wanted no part in this- no part of him within this nightmare he was stuck inside of. He’d been picked up, rammed and shoved into the core of the one thing he swore he’d never see himself become. The one dreaded fate worse than death, that had been meant for him at birth. 

Though he’d seemingly escaped the will of the empire once- one way or another, fate still found a way to bring him here. A harsh metal armour surrounded his every muscle; a caged, limited peek at the outside world- the only thing absent was the dark, bitter corruption of the daemonic starscourge that saw him completely conscious and aware of every single sensation around him... and by the gods he almost wished for perversive blight, that he might have no true idea of the horrors it felt: to be a human trapped in the fate of a machine that was everything he’d ever rejected in life- everything he’d tried to avoid. An abomination of all things human, moving to his every whim like it was made to follow his command... or he was made to command it. 

The horrifying truth only his darkest nightmares could conjure, fully realised in this hell called reality, but all too tangibly, terrifyingly real. He’d fought it, rejected it, and run from it his entire life... but in the end, it seemed the truth just wouldn’t be denied. 

He was a magitek soldier. 

With every passing second, his fear of this reality set in. He was beginning to lose track of where his limbs ended, and the metal began. The armour moulded and reacting so perfectly to his mind, it was like a second skin- a foreign body he never asked for, forcibly grafted to the true body he couldn’t even tell apart anymore. It felt so incredibly perverse- he’d never felt so disturbed in his own skin, trapped within his own self. It went against everything he so fundamentally was- he loathed it with everything he was, even as his brain started traitorously adapting to the parasitic over-limbs, without his consent. That arm he saw was his arm- that scrape of an armoured plate on the floor was his leg. He yelled out at himself- time and time again- that it wasn’t him! It was this metal abomination! 

He was trying so desperately to reject, and reject, and reject, but he was he powerless to escape. It almost drove him to mania. Panic pushing his mind to the point of hysteria- moments away from snapping his own sanity from the sheer revulsion of it all. His entire being baulking against everything his senses were telling him- the blissful delusion of insanity a veritable dream compared to the agonies of sense. If he simply snapped, it would be much easier to pretend he hadn’t just become his own nightmare incarnate. 

He shuddered and spasmed under the weight of reality, his leaden arms refusing to translate the movement- the metal swallowing it whole. The truth, and the terror, of his soul- the simple expression of his being- lost to the deadening metal beast. 

A shuddered grind vibrating from the floor, through to every cell in his being- the metal case turned him into a living tuning fork- and a tortured whine of protesting machinery crying out, as two, towering weighted doors dragged themselves apart. 

It jolted him out of his stupor- away from his failing sanity- as he took stock of his surroundings for the first time. So lost in his inner turmoil, he forgot there was any kind of world outside that metal shell- and the sudden appearance of the hangar doors was as jarring as if they’d appeared from nowhere. 

He suddenly realised he was in some kind of open plateau, or bunker. Thick, robust, ridiculously tall walls climbing either side of him, and something... between his feet? What-? 

A dark, tattered jacket bearing a familiar crest... 

It was his his old crownsguard jacket. A beaten, wrecked remnant of his self before the armour, left by his feet as a taunting reminder of the life he had before. He had to force himself to hold back the flurry of longing, pain, abandonment and loss that assailed him at the mangled metaphor for his current predicament. It... wasn’t over. He tried to tell himself. He could still be worthy of that hard earned insignia yet! He might be a worthless magitek escapee, but his service to the crown wasn’t done. He wasn’t letting go of that insignia! 

The jagged slabs continued parting ways before him, as he suddenly realised mourning his current state was far less critical than whatever was trying to get in. What manner of creature, or beast, was trying to force its way in to him? The imperial chancellor? Some other member of the imperial court? Or perhaps some daemon had thrown itself at a control panel, and was letting the others inside. He wasn’t sure, but he braced himself for the worst. 

His frayed, weary, and utterly emotionally spent mind still managing to conjure a kick of fear. His fight or flight reflex had long since worn itself out in battle against this new body- the slow, but inevitable, onset of an adrenaline crash already starting to seep deep into his slowly stiffening limbs, and he wasn’t sure he had the will power, or the energy, to deal with an actual fight right now. But there was no choice. He had to ready himself up anyway. 

He couldn’t go dying- not yet- not while there were still people who needed him. He couldn’t let them down! He couldn’t even muster the energy to stand properly- the punch of terror and anticipation barely enough to drive him onto his feet. His metal laden legs simply refusing to lift himself any higher, but he steadied himself for a potential battle. 

A part of him would even welcome a fight right now- just for the chance to feel some sliver of person who he used to be, and so desperately prayed he still was. He wanted the fear, the panic, even the pain. Claws and darkness slicing towards his flesh, even if just to prove that there was still flesh under there- muscle and sinew underneath all that falsified, metal skin. He wanted to feel some semblance of the person, and life, he had before: frightful, scared, light on his feet- but still with trust in ability to fight, and burning with the passion to live. 

He prepared himself to reach into that familiar astral pocket, ready to draw out his reliable firearms at a moments notice, but then... it wasn’t a daemon that stood before him. Not a creature, or a monster, or a beast... it was human. 

A lone figure stood in the small gap between those doors. 

An oh so familiar vision of someone he almost never dared hope he’d see again- who’s presence he’d longed to grasp hold of, and never let go- but his mind was still reeling, cautious disbelief at the possibility of disillusion overwhelming his every other sense. Wishing, with everything he had, he could believe his eyes, but desperately scared to even allow himself to hope- because, if it that wasn’t real, it that hope proved false... he thought he might just break. 

It wasn’t possible. It couldn’t actually be... No- he couldn’t risk it- it couldn’t be him... But, try though he might, hope had a beautiful way of latching onto your most desired truth and seeing it through to reality- weeding out the denial until he realised the truth of what he saw before him. 

Noct. 

His face from within the magitek carcass crumpling completely, as he sagged, just a little, towards the ground. A broken sob of compounded emotion tearing from his throat. The sound of every last feeling he’d carried on his shoulders since that hated day on the train, drenched in relief, spilling out from his lungs, as he sucked desperately at the new freedom of air he suddenly found himself. The stress and anxiety that had starved his lungs in a vice-like grasp lifted in an instant, as he finally found himself safe. 

He allowed himself to crumble, indulging in a brief moment of weakness such as he only ever allowed himself to show around Noct. Too relieved to be embarrassed, or ashamed, even with truth of his imperial heritage laid bare in such an obvious, cruel way. He could worry about that when he was finally free of these body-binding shackles. If he was lucky, Noct wouldn’t not even understand the inference behind it. 

This hell of a nightmare was finally over his best friend- salvation had arrived. In just a few moments he’d be free. Everything was going to be okay. 

He reached out a weary, shaking hand out towards his prince.  
“N- noct.” He stuttered over his weak, longing plea, a delicate widow of a desperate, relieved smile dancing across his face. 

After being thrown off a train, captured, bound, forced to run and fight for his life, captured again, and tortured at the hands of the people he’d now learned were meant to have been his kinsmen, then spat out and abandoned into this cruel torture toy... after everything it had taken, all that it cost him to get here... at long last, he was found. 

He never thought he could be so happy to see Noct’s stupid head- he needed the reassurance of a friend right now. A comforting touch of a hand on his shoulder, a gentle voice by his side, a simple conversation- anything. Just something told him that everything was going to be alright now. Things were going to go back to the way they were meant to be. 

But, even as he watched, something was wrong. 

Noct had stayed frozen in that hangar doorway for far too long- his face locked into something stunned and disbelieving- probably something else Prompto couldn’t decipher through the sudden blurriness in his eyes.

He kept his hand outstretched, waiting for him to reach back... 

It all happened so quickly- the prince’s face and poise dissolving in an instant, seemingly corrupted in a way that seemed borderline demonic. He watched the prince turn feral before him in a matter of moments- he’d never seen fury the likes of this in the raven-haired’s eyes before. Not like this not, not so vehemently levelled at him- except, perhaps... once before. 

The prince seemed to vibrate with a rage he just couldn’t seem to contain- charged with sheer hatred- and then... there was the oh so familiar millisecond- crackled astral light radiating from the prince for a few fractions of a second that would’ve been invisible to an untrained eye, prompto had seen it many times before. 

If he’d been any less less familiar, sparred against the prince with just a fraction less frequency, he wouldn’t have seen it coming. As it was, the split second between blink and reappearance was barely enough. Had Gladio been a little less strict in his drilling- pitting him and Noct against one another over and over and over again- he’d have been dead. 

Instinct just barely carrying him out of the fatal zone, as the soaring blade he didn’t even have time to register flew past his side, just barely making it out unscathed. He never thought he’d be grateful of the monstrous hunk of armour, but right now it was the only thing stopping him from being gutted like a fish- Noct’s blade (wait, was that his father’s?) glanced off the steel. No, Noct had thrown sloppy. He had a feeling that if the other hadn’t been so beside himself with fury right now, it could’ve very easily been a dead hit. 

Prompto reeled- up close and personally vindictive, the prince’s face was nothing short of terrifying. Mouth twisted into a viscious snarl, scalding eyes staring into his being with a thousand death wishes and suffering, like he was everything he despised in this world. Deadly intent raging through the air so violently, he instinctively found himself reaching for his dual pistols- stretching his will out for the Armiger in a moment of blind panic-. Only to have the dizzying sensation of reaching for something that wasn’t there. 

It was as if a piece of the universe had slipped out of place, and he was left to recover his footing in this misstep of reality- like a sudden plummet he hadn’t been expecting. 

He couldn’t reach it. Why? Why hadn’t he been allowed in? There were a scarce few reasons he could think of, and it certainly didn’t seem to be affecting the princes ability to wield. 

He didn’t even have time to process the off-tilt sensation, or it’s meaning- the raging royal didn’t allow him a heartbeat’s peace. Sweeping round, and tearing after him with a violent, guttural cry- hooded, but blazing, eyes seething with full, murderous intent as he charged the still stunned, magitek-bound prisoner. Battle instincts, and reflexes, once again the only thing saving his head from being taken clean off his shoulders, as he scrambled away in a horrified daze of fear.  
“Noct?! It’s me!” He cried, the plea filtered and distorted into a mechanical sham of his former voice- words hardly distinguishable even to his own ears, but surely Noct had to hear him. Hadn’t he seen the jacket? The obvious marker clearly labelling him? Was he was he really trying to-?

His heart inverted on itself in that moment- outsides swallowed in, and innards forcibly dragged out- as Noctis’ fury ridden death strikes finally reminded him... he was Noct’s most hated enemy now. 

He didn’t know why, or how, or what he’d done, but this wasn’t the first time he’d attacked him with such vigour... Back on the train... he’d been fleeing for his life, with his so called best friend right at his heels- throwing himself at him with reckless anger such as he’d never seen him before. 

Back then, some part of him refused to believe it had actually happened. He tried to think it wasn’t real- it was all a trick, a dream. There- there had to be some reason behind it. He’d just been upset, he hadn’t meant it! Any and every excuse he could conjure to protect his now fragile sense of reality, where Noct and him were attatched the hip, because he’d just point blank refused to accept that Noct would attack him like that. He was his best friend. 

They’d spent years forging unbeatable high scores together on damn near every game at the arcade- even terrorised some that we’re a bit further away. They’d seen each other laugh and smile- delighted, angry, miserable, scared- spent so many nights consoling each other of their worries and miseries. He’d pledged his entire life to staying by Noctis’ side- choosing to join the Crownsguard, knowing the danger, stress and work it took to get through it... and hed done it all for him. Noct was the one person for whom he’d changed his life around- and not out of some blindsided folly, or slavish devotion to the crown- but for strength of devotion for how much he cared for him. Not as Noctis Lucis Caelum CXIV, crown prince of Insomnia, but grumpy old Noct- his surly, but soft hearted, best friend. 

But then the venomous words of more recent times cut through the rose tinted past. 

“The hell are you doing here?!” 

“You think this is funny?!” 

“This is all your fault!” 

Best friends didn’t spit such poison towards each other. Each word felt like a hot iron to the gut, as he wondered... what he’d done? How had let it get like this? What had he so colossally messed up to break, not only Noct’s trust, but shatter their relationship so completely and thoroughly Noct seemed to be taking every joy they’d spent together and twisting it against him. Personally trying to disembowel him on the spot. 

Heart palpitations rattled through what paper thin composure he had, as it began to feel like the harsh metal clasps surrounding his frame were the only thing keeping him from falling apart on the spot. The ever deepening, ever agonising realisation burrowed itself deeper and deeper- settling, and gouging, deep into his bones. Noct- his best friend... was genuinely trying to kill him. 

Cold, cold fear, and a world ending hurt, blasted through his soul with torrential abandon. It hurt- oh gods, it hurt so much to see the his dearest and most precious friend, through which he’d tied all the bonds of brotherhood, hacking and slicing at him with no hesitation- all intent on his suffering. 

His consciousness had no say in this one-sided battle anymore, unable to summon the will, or energy, for action through complete emotional massacre. Fight or flight dashing desperately back and forth- lunging at his deadweight vessel in a desperate bid for life. He didn’t want to die. Not like this- not to him. Please. 

But what could he do? He couldn’t run from someone who could bend the very fabric of reality itself to hunt him down, and he couldn’t- point blank refused to even consider hurting Noct. His pistols and machinery were out of his grasp anyway. 

It suddenly hit him, like he’d been hit with every single elemental cast at once: burning, ice cold and charged with a voltage that shut down all his basic functions. 

He was going to die here. 

Noct was going to kill him. 

It was only a matter of time before- 

He stiffened. 

Locked into place long before he processed what was happening. The world frozen for a moment, as a sudden, deafening silence plugged his ears. He felt oddly numb, like every sense had suddenly dulled and faded away. His brain feeling like mere cotton wool stuffed inside his head. The only thing processing as existing was his own faint sense of self, and the jarringly still dark prince before him, an all consuming look of putrid hatred still written thickly across his face. He didn’t quite know what had happened. All of a sudden, Noctis was there, and then... there was this stillness. 

He dimly registered the ornate handle of a sword, still held firmly in Noct’s grasp, way closer than it was before. Too close. The hilt pressed right up against his metal torso, but he couldn’t quite figure out why that was a bad thing. It was just the two of them in the world. A frozen him, and a frozen Noct. Any emotions strangely void, as everything slipped slightly. He was falling, but he couldn’t begin to wonder why... and he had no idea what was stopping him... He hadn’t even noticed the complete absence of strength, as any connection between mind and body abandoned him completely... He was crashing, crashing, slowly... 

...and then as suddenly as the world was silenced, it suddenly became drowned. Any and every vague input suddenly a thousand miles away, as he fell once again. If there was a floor for him to hit, he couldn’t feel it. There were noises he didn’t even recognise as voices echoing around him. They might as well have been speaking from Insomnia. There wasn’t a person in front of him anymore, just a silhouette. Moving and shifting in front of him like it was made from an abstract thought. The shape too fading... fading... as he slipped away... 

...and, still, as his final act... even after everything, he found himself reaching for his prince. He had no idea why, or what for. What he was expecting to gain from such a gesture. Why, in his last moments... that was movement that came to him. Perhaps because there was nothing left to reach for. Perhaps because he was all he had left. Perhaps some unspoken instinct, seared into his soul... was still looking to him, as it always had... in his final moments, seeking comfort? Reassurance? Longing, pain or misery? He didn’t know. He was unsure why, in those last moments, he reached out for the Prince... but reaching nevertheless... 

...and then he, too, slipped away. 

There was a disturbance rippling the space around him, as his body was moved... But it was as if he was at rest at the bottom of a lake, or perhaps sinking into an infinite chasm of the ocean. The ripples couldn’t reach him, they didnt even catch his attention. They just were... and slowly... he sank deeper and deeper into that chasm, stained red. An oddly stuffy sense of nothingness surrounding him, like tar, as he drifted away... the silent lure of an endless sleep effortlessly luring him closer... and he was powerless to resist... Even as a rush of warming fire blazed beneath him, creating an upward current, an underwater geyser trying to push him up and away from that dreamless sleep... He found he didn’t even have the strength, or the will, to allow its assistance... Potions and phoenix feathers can only do so much... after a certain point, the body must want to heal, has to take that chance and reach for life... and yet he found himself plummeting ever deeper... he didn’t have anything left, there was no reason for him to come back... and then. Through all the greatest, deepest depths of the ocean. 

Something reached him. 

Reverberating through endless eons of insurmountable space to reach the curtain of near death... and holding onto him, with gentle tenterhooks. 

His descent stilled. 

He found himself halted, suspended, as that single sound broke through void once again. A gut wrenching, heart tugging sob. Raw, visceral, drenched in suffering and unimaginable grief. A broken sound, from a broken man. No attempt, conscious or unconscious, to stymie the sound... Only pure, distilled pain, the likes of which he could only begin to imagine... and that sound held him there... like there was some part of him that still recognised what it was. Enough for him to find the strength to pause, to float in the infinite abyss... and hold back the tempting draw of darkness, if only for a moment. 

He knew that sound. 

He knew who it belonged to, and it was... it was wrong. It shouldn’t... be. He moved towards it, pushing just a tiny bit upwards... no.. dont do that... whatever heart went with him as he approached the afterlife ached for it. Whatever pitiful creature was making that sound, it was hurting... and he couldn’t help but be drawn to it. He raised himself towards it... He couldn’t stand that sound. He wanted it to stop. He wanted to stop it. It rang out again, in the darkness, and he reached out to ease it. There was some part of him that knew the creature that was making that sound... and perhaps that was why he reached for it all the more fervently. But, in the interminable void which separated life and death, there was neither form nor conscience to his actions. Only a raw, stripped essence following a pure, enduring sense of care and devotion... to never let that sound of misery be heard ever again, to quieten the anguish behind it. He couldn’t stand the pain, the agonising wretch of desolation. 

He wanted to soothe it. 

Reaching ever upwards in an attempt to console. Hushing quietly at the tender sobs, despite not having the voice, nor awareness, to even do so. He dragged himself ever upwards, fighting weight of the voids heavy waters. Thrusting against the drag, the pull, the energy sapping density that surrounded his every move... and he slowly, painfully... began the long trek to the return of his consciousness. 

In real terms of reality, it probably didn’t even take more than a minute. In the vast, endless expanse of the beyond, it could’ve been weeks, or even years, were it not a place without time. All he knew was the endless, exhausting task at hand. Dragging himself upwards through that blood red ocean, somewhere between sleep and passing, that held him back from reaching Noct. 

Noct. 

He had the name! The name of his prince. He was going to save Noct! Every time the waters threatened to claim him once more, another sob echoed through the ocean, and he found the strength to push forwards once more. Noct couldn’t cry, he couldn’t let him carry on like that. He had to do something. 

He only had a name, and a conviction. He didn’t even know himself, but he if he knew only that one thing, it was that he couldn’t just ignore his cries of pain. 

Then suddenly the waters grew warm. An upwards rushing current was pushing him on ahead. Lifting him higher... and higher... He was almost there, grasping and snatching at the surface, but it just barely eluded him. The warmth of the upward current bubbling at his feet. It had brought him back to life. Apparently it didn’t really concern itself with the state on his conscious. 

He reached for the surface. 

Please Noct... dont cry... don’t cry, Noct... please... 

He pushed up against the underside of the water. It seemed somehow resistant to his touch. But, instead... somehow, somehow, some echo of a memory reached him under there. Memories of a training, of fighting his way back from a lost and distracted mind. Taking beatings until he was blue in the face, and he could be sure he could gather his mind back from consciousness. 

He broke through the surface like he was reaching out from desert earth- like he’d just escaped his own coffin, and was dragging himself back to the land of the living... only a slight deviation of the truth. 

An assault of sensations brutally attacking him from all sides- but touch was the least offensive, so he tried to ground himself with that, while his eyes and ears rediscovered themselves. He could breath a whole lot easier- if his memory had been operating, he might’ve been able to notice a greater freedom than before. A distinct lack of restriction on the majority of his torso that said he’d broke free of a body trap he couldn’t currently remember, but it still had him reeling with relief anyway. His legs were too numb to register if they were still enclosed or not, but there was one definite, tangible contact with the physical world he could notice. 

A tight grip on his arms, holding him up- and a familiar flaming aura, similar to that of a mild sunburn, floating across his skin. The gentle flames, and the soothing balm of their healing, over and under his skin doing an absolute marvel for his brutally destroyed state. It even soothed some of the mental ache- like that breath of fresh air after a battle had ended. The exhaustion, aches and pains still bruised his body... but there was a comfort in the feeling of release that followed. 

Sound slowly sharpened, as his ears retuned themselves to his surroundings- eyesight resolving itself in the fringes of passable clarity, as a face appeared before him. Distraught, red and raw. He struggled to work his tongue through the compulsion to speak.  
“Noct?” He muttered, confused- stumbling over the word, but without another second to gather himself, as he was suddenly flung forwards like a rag doll. The movement startling, as he realised he was now hanging over Noct’s shoulder. 

There was another figure in his periphery- big enough he didn’t need full vision to recognise who it was. Gladio- which Ignis was likely here too. His brain was still fumbling over the whole situation. Why was he-? Why was his head was draped over Noctis’ shoulder like that? There was the pressure of two desperately grasping hands pressed into his back, a fading sense of dulled agony he recognised as the after sensation of rapid healing, and the warmth of a phoenix feather which muddled with Noctis’ own body heat. He was so confused. What was going on? 

The way Noctis was clinging to him- a few stray, choked sobs he was attempting to clam up right next to his ear- he even swore he could even feel a slight dampness on his neck where Noctis had pressed against him. It just didn’t add up. Why wasn’t anyone trying to kill him? Noctis had wanted him dead, right? He’d... he’d charged him with a sword- he’d-. His eyes widened as he finally realised what that buried sword hilt had meant... He’d stabbed him. He’d pushed his sword right through his gut, after many attempts to do so. 

...and now he was here? 

Healed, and pressed up against a sobbing prince- precious, rare and expensive resources used on him... but why? He thought he wanted him dead, even if he didn’t quite know why. 

It was then when he realised his arms were free from the clasped metal cagings of suffocating armour. Stale, but blissful, air resting stagnant next to his skin, as he breathed a chest free of pressure and metal enslavement... He’d been broken out. Someone had gotten him out of that shell. Who- Noctis? He was so bent on taking off his head, he didn’t think it would matter if he was trapped in that cage or not. Perhaps, Ignis might’ve? He certainly seemed the polite sort to do that kind of thing, but he wasn’t currently the best equipped for delicate measures right now. Gladio? He was sure to side with Noct on this whole thing, any enemy of the crown could rot under his boot for all he cared- he’d even said as such. He just didn’t understand why he was still alive right now. 

“-I thought you were... I thought I-...” 

Noctis’ choking breathes finally formed words. The dense blanket of things that could-have-been filling the void of the silence, setting heavily on them all, as all Prompto could think of was how he agreed with what the prince had said... and how bizarre it was to hear Noctis voicing his thoughts, when he was the one who’d put in that situation. 

The silence would’ve lasted- clearly no one willing to breach the topic of what had just happened, or shatter the seemingly fragile moment that’d followed. Though for who’s sake they were keeping the silence, Prompto couldn’t tell. It was ultimately Ignis that broke it- his innate sense for the next right step nudging them once more into action.  
“Are you alright?” He enquired, softly, cane resting at the side of the yawning, metal casket at Prompto’s back. A shredding tangle of metal and wires, gnashed and gaping over the shallow, empty interior, like the teeth of a prised open maw. Prompto went with the default  
“Yeah... I’m okay.” When it was obvious he was anything but. 

The truth was an essay none of them could begin to unravel right now. Too many words, too many thoughts, and too many emotions loaded into that question- cut and trimmed into three simple words that acknowledged the question, but also the inability for true honesty within it. There was never going to be a true answer in response to it, but then the question wasn’t really expecting it to be either. It was a stepping stone to move the conversation forwards, stemming from a concern Prompto wasn’t sure he could believe was true anymore.

This entire situation was a convoluted mess- far more than “I’m fine” could ever begin to answer- but what else was there to say? He was alive, but, then, they knew that much already, and that was about as much as he could constitute to his actual wellbeing at the moment. 

But, still, his confusion refused to let the sleeping nightmares settle. He had to know. As much as he was terrified of the answer, he wasn’t sure he could quite grant as much allowance to fear as he used to when it’d been all but burnt to ash within him. He’d already died- what fear could be left to him after that. 

Ignis’ silent reminder of the ability to speak managed to coax him to open the box of horrors that had to be opened.  
“What happened?” He asked, leaning slightly away from Noctis to semi-consciously pull away from his embrace. He hated the look of pain, grief and shattered hope on the prince’s face as he let him shift out of his grasp, trying desperately to meet his eyes... but Prompto just simply refused. 

He just couldn’t bring himself to pretend that Noctis hadn’t just gutted him- he couldn’t just ignore that... and he couldn’t quite bring himself to face him- to look him in the eyes after he’d just toyed with his life like a puppet. Bouncing him back from life to death like it was some kind of sick game- to revive him after sticking him in stomach. Rage in his eyes one moment, then tears the next- and Prompto just had no idea what to think. He didn’t know the prince at all anymore. Was he best friend? His worst enemy? Was he a wild, vengeful sovereign, or a genuine remorseful friend, brought to tears with the relief he was alive?

...He didn’t know. 

He just didn’t know anymore. 

Who was Noctis... and who was he? If he wasn’t his buddy, and he wasn’t crownsguard... what was left of him?... and what if he was, what happened now? How could ever truly trust a friend, and a monarch, that had slain him at his lowest and most broken. At the point in which he’d needed him- defenceless and aching- with no idea what he’d even done to warrant his execution, he’d killed him in cold blood... He supposed he could only wait, and try and see what pains- or consolation- an explanation could offer him. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Noctis stop trying to catch his attention, and instead avoid him altogether. Without a proper look, it was hard to tell what he was feeling: shame? Regret? Anger? More than likely some blend of the three. His hands were clenched tightly in that way Prompto recognised as repressing emotion. It quickly became clear he wasn’t going to talk, and Prompto’s heart sank a little. Couldn’t he at least... tell him what had happened? Didn’t he have the guts to do it himself? Apparently not- and Prompto couldn’t help but feel let down. 

He thought Prince Noctis would have given him that much- he couldn’t help but think he was at least owed that. He wanted to hear it straight from the prince’s mouth: that either he had meant to kill him, and still did, or he hadn’t, and it was some astronomical misunderstanding. As strong as his faith in the prince was, it was being tested here. He wasn’t sure he could still follow the man if he wouldn’t at least speak on his own behalf. 

The ever-perceptive Ignis gave the prince a light rap against his shirt- years and years of practiced bureaucratic sensibilities probably telling him that this was a question he had to take- or else lose Prompto (or, at the very least, an important element of their friendship) forever; and Ignis was doing as he always did: advised. 

There was still a considerable silence of the prince seemingly trying to reverse engineer words- like he’d swallowed them, and was trying to rewind the whole process. Hurling them up from his stomach, and mashing them around in his jaw before he could get them out. It took a while, and for a long moment, it seemed as though no words were coming. Until, eventually, he managed to find one worth spitting out. 

“Ardyn.”

Prompto finally looked at him, properly, for the first time. That was as good a starting point as any- and definitely threw up a few interesting flags. It wasn’t a full answer just yet, but it could be the beginnings of one. 

Ardyn, huh? He knew the creep was out to get him and the prince. This entire mess sounded exactly like something that creep would’ve loved to have orchestrated- but he wanted to hear the prince say it. He didn’t want to assume and make a fool of himself, but with Ardyn now at play... it was very possible things weren’t exactly what they’d seemed to him. He knew what he saw- or what he thought he saw... What about the prince? He wanted to see his side of it- understand what train of events had lead him to plunging his sword into his-... He sighed, mentally, unsure of how to even qualify himself to the prince right now. 

He watched him warring the emotions he was so famously terrible at explaining, looking to stitch together an acceptable explanation... But all Prompto wanted was the truth. To see the last ten or fifteen minutes through his eyes. He had theories, he had potential- he might even be so bold as to say he had hope. But it all hinges on Noctis. 

“He-...” 

A breath where he faltered over his words. 

“He was taunting me.”

“Making me see visions of you everywhere, making me chase after them- and the whole time, he kept going on about how little time you had left, that you were in trouble. I didn’t want to believe him, I didn’t want to play his games, but I was so worried- and, I didn’t want to risk it.” 

Prompto tried to imagine it. Imagined if Noctis was the one locked up, and not him. Chasing around illusions and ghosts seemingly distracting from the “reality” of some unknown danger closing in his frien- on Noctis. He already didn’t like it, but it was at least encouraging to imagine him tearing this hellhole apart in search of him. Perhaps, there was more than a little self indulgence in those imaginings, but he couldn’t help but try to hope that’s what he meant... and it really was comforting to hear Noctis say he was worried over him, regardless of how unsure he was over how much faith he could put into it right now. 

He stayed silent as Noctis plunged on.  
“I tried to hurry, but then, right when I got here... He said I was too late.” Prompto’s eyes flicked open a little wider at that revelation- a little pool of uncomfortable dread beginning to coil in his stomach. “And then... I saw that thing- and your jacket- and it was all torn and shredded- and I just-!” He cut himself off after gesturing the metal casket, and the tattered fabric a little ways behind them. 

Understanding finally lumped itself in with the dread to form a solid block of concrete in his stomach. So that was what happened. 

He didn’t know how he should feel... 

He supposed there was meant to be something flattering in how Noctis’ entire fury had been in defence of him- even if it had unknowingly been directed at him, but... he’d been through a lot in the past few hours- the past few days even. Every moment since they stepped foot on that train had been nightmare after nightmare of turning his friends against him. 

He didn’t blame really Ignis, but he was the first to stop responding to him. Gladio had shoved him aside without even a second thought, and perhaps he could’ve taken it... but Noctis? Not just once, but twice trying to kill him? Even if it was by the strings of another, could he really bring himself to open himself up to that again? He said he’d never let anything come between them, but this? 

Would this change things between them? Would he ever be able to fully trust him again? Would they truly be able to return their relationship to what it was before?... Would things ever... be the same again? 

He lost himself to his thoughts, his doubts and his fears. Anxiety chattering in the back of his ear, telling him that he would never be able to forget this, and never forgive. 

But then, Noctis shifted to look straight at him- and he found he was unable to look away. Noctis fiercely meeting his eyes, as if trying to reestablish the former connection they used to have so easily- willing him to see the honesty in his words.  
“I swear, if I’d known it was you, I’d never...” He faltered, still somehow maintaining the contact. “You know I’d never do that to you... right?” He impressed upon him, almost pleaded in his gaze. 

Prompto’s eyes fell down, searching inwardly... Did he know that? 

He pondered it for longer than apparently either of them thought he should.  
“Prom?” Noct tried, just a little bit heartbroken- reaching for his friend just as desperately as the blond been reaching for him... until he found himself at death’s door... He didn’t know. 

Prompto did a whole lot of soul searching in that moment. Did he know that Noctis would never hurt him like that? He tried to reassess the question. Did he think Noct was capable of hurting him like that? Of course he did- Noctis incredibly important to him. Just a few words from him could cut as deeply as any sword did. Did he think Noctis would hurt him again? Almost definitely, the world a was a dark and cruel one- almost inevitably he was going to do so again. Did he think Noctis wanted to hurt him? No- he didn’t think the guy could look him in the eye, and lie to him about that. Did he care about Noctis? Of course he did- the bond they made ran deeper than a mere flesh wound, no amount of pain or bloodshed would ever be able to stop him from caring. 

Did he trust Noct? 

This one.

Things weren’t quite as simple as that. But, perhaps... he wanted to... and maybe that was the first step. 

He finally let the barest beginning of a little, wan smile spread on his face. 

“...yeah.” He whispered. 

Barely breathing out the words, but it felt like the whole room started breathing again with him, just a little. “Yeah, you’re right.” The affirmation as much to comfort himself as anyone. 

As if the spell was broken, the rest of them started moving again. Noct bowing down to nearly press his head against the floor- overwhelmed, relieved, still overridden with guilt and shame? It was hard to tell. Maybe he still needed a long moment to process everything. Prompto didn’t blame him- he did too. 

He quietly crossed his arms over himself, still feeling a little vulnerable for a range of reasons. Gladio shuffled off he didn’t see where, and he felt a blunted staff gently run into his back, as Ignis crouched down beside him- a warm, reassuring hand resting on his shoulder.  
“Are you sure you’re alright?” He muttered, soft and caring in that gentle way that could calm the tides- he’d seen him use it with Noct in many a mental breakdown. He supposed it was rather appropriate here, though it clearly wasn’t meant for Noct- he spoke far too quietly for him to even hear. It was the kind of tone that invited truth- and, this time, Prompto felt he could speak a little of it, at least.  
“I will be.” He muttered back, lips barely moving... and he would be. This wasn’t exactly something he could just walk off, but with time, perhaps he’d be okay- or, rather... perhaps he and Noct might be okay. Maybe they might be able to recover their relationship, and get it back to something like it was before... and then he would be okay. 

Ignis nodded, satisfied with his answer, letting his hand linger for a moment. The weight comforting, until it disappeared with something much heavier being draped over his shoulders. He looked up to see his old, beaten jacket draped carefully over his shoulders- Gladio wrapping it round him an oddly gentle manner. Prompto reached to grab the edges, pulling it a little closer, as Gladio pulled away.  
“Fix it up for you.” He muttered. “I ain’t no seamstress, but i can try.” He told him. Perhaps reassessing the damage, because he offered: “Maybe Iggy might still be able to do something with it?” He mumbled, seemingly half to himself by now, but still incredibly thoughtful in his words- even if he stubbornly refused to outright admit the caring within them.  
“We’ll come up with something.” Ignis reassured him, standing up... a sense of something returning to normal as he did so. Prompto smiled a thanks, still running his thumb absentmindedly up and down the fabric. 

He couldn’t remember who it was said the weight of the crownsguard uniforms was supposed to represent the weight of their duties, and their responsibility to the crown- Prompto always found it oddly comforting. 

He was about to shift himself, ready to stand, when he noticed a hand suddenly held out in front of him. A dark obsidian ring shining dully in the artificial light, as Prompto dimly noticed he’d finally found the strength to put it on- but beyond that, he was focussed on the wearer. Noct was looking away from the gesture, as if uninterested in his response to it. As if the feigned disinterest would ever fly with him- he could tell Noct’s interest in a video game from the flick of an eye, it was kind of endearing how he thought he could still get away with it. 

He smiled, more genuinely this time, as he took Noct’s arm, and the two of them pulled themselves up together. Something paradoxically delicate and strong in Noct’s grasp- like he was trying so hard to use the perfect amount of pressure, so he didn’t mess things up and have them fall. It was kind of sweet how much care he put into the motion- understanding the baby steps of trust Prompto was taking right now, and showing how serious, and thankful, he was for the minor leap of faith of taking his hand- pulling them up like he was trying to tell him he’d never let him down again. 

He held onto their grasp a little longer once they were stood. Silently holding steady. He didn’t let go. Prompto didn’t either. It felt like a promise. 

Shyly, Prompto curled his hand into a soft fist, and Noct effortlessly met it with his own. A small, but genuine, smile playing across both their faces. 

“Makes me wonder why Ardyn even bothered with this whole thing.” Gladio pondered, mostly to Ignis as the tactician of the group- slightly sullying the moment as he tried to make sense of the lingering regrets surrounding them. “Kill him?” He questioned. Ignis shook his head, fingers thoughtfully clasped at the chin.  
“If he wanted Prompto dead or out the picture, he could’ve done so far away from here.” He noted. “I suspect this was some form of entertainment- though I doubt he would’ve cared much for the outcome either way.” Prompto didn’t need to look at Noct to know about the stiffened fury that’d taken a tight lock of his jaw- even before he snarled out:  
“Sick bastard’s gonna pay for what he’s done.” Prompto tried not to think about it- his life a mere toy to the twisted person behind all this... not that he didn’t know it already, but it was a grim reminder. 

It wasn’t until they tried to walk past the dismembered carcass of his metal prison that Prompto realised... not everything was over. 

He slowed, the jacket suddenly weighing more and more on his shoulders, and he ended up staring at it, heavily- letting it slip off one shoulder and into his hand, still barely hanging onto his figure. This wasn’t all sorted yet, was it... There was something still to tell. 

Maybe, he shouldn’t be so willing to divulge secrets so soon after recent events, but this one... it had to be told. He didn’t think he could keep it hidden, with the hollow shell burning holes into his back with every step he took... but he didn’t want to jeopardise what he so delicately had right now. 

He tried not to think about the furious manner Noct had tried to hack him apart whilst he was trapped within the suit- when he thought he was a magitek soldier. Didn’t dare imagine how he might react if he realised it was true- when, not if, he realised. He couldn’t keep it hidden- the lies of silence were tearing him apart. 

He couldn’t pretend nothing had changed- that he was the same old Prompto from before- because he wasn’t, or, at least, he might not be... He hoped he was, but he was terrified this would make them see him differently, when the truth was, he just wanted so desperately to go back to being that old Prompto: to be cracking jokes, unafraid of taunting, and teasing, and laughing with Noct- not a single hesitation in calling him his best friend. 

But now... They had to know. 

The silence was suffocating him. He didn’t know if he could stand under it any longer- stand beneath that crownsguard vest as if he was a proud citizen of Lucis, and not just a would-have-been soldier- a should-have-been monster. The jacket suddenly seemed wrong in his hands- the insignia judging him- and, not for the first time, but he felt unworthy. 

Noct was the first to notice he’d stopped- Prompto hardly recognised that fact.  
“Prompto?” He queried, concerned, silently asking him to come join them- worried he wouldn’t follow. But he couldn’t bring himself to do it with the falsified truths about himself, and his origin, still flying right under their noses without them even knowing it. 

“I don’t deserve this vest.” He admitted. The second he said it, realising how that would sound coming from him, but it wasn’t the usual self deprecation this time- not just, anyway. This time he actually genuinely didn’t deserve it... Though the usual self doubts seemed to be seizing the opportunity to remind him he never had been, and he was an idiot for ever thinking otherwise. 

He appreciated the well meaning, but misunderstanding, rebuttals that followed, but he shook his head throughout them, before he finally interrupted.  
“No, I don’t, because I’m not-...” The confession halted like his subconscious was panicking, giving him one last chance to back out before it was too late. He could just let this fade into secrecy, play up his insecurities- no one would know.  
“Not what?” Noct questioned. Confused, but also a little challenging as if daring him to come up with something that could make him believe that statement. Trying to prove that nothing could change his mind, but Prompto was about to give that faith one hell of a stress test. 

He couldn’t hide it. Noct was practically demanding he give him the worst, almost looking for a chance to prove, or maybe earn back, his place back as Prompto’s trusted, and best, friend... and Prompto was going to give him the chance. He didn’t know whether it’d shake him, or not, but some truths right now just refused to sit in his mouth. 

“Lucian.” 

He confessed, the word dripping from his mouth like a sad raindrop. He kept his eyes groundward.  
“I was an Imperial. Born and raised here, before I was rescued- stolen,” He stumbled- elaborating, or correcting, he wasn’t sure. “meant to be one of those things.” He finished, gesturing half heartedly towards the metal skin he’d escaped again, like a looping repeat of history. His voice was fragile- not quite broken, but drawn tight- quiet and delicate, as if by saying the truth gently it could somehow soften the sucker punch of what it meant. 

He didn’t quite look any of them in the face after that- too afraid of seeing disgust, horror, fear or worse, anger and hatred. But Noct seemed to take issue with one part of what he said in particular- and it wasn’t the part he’d expected. 

“Who cares what you’re ‘meant to be’?” 

He froze. He was not expecting that to be his takeaway. He chanced a look up, mostly drawn by surprise, but was stunned to see none of the expressions he was expecting- not even a sense of pity (he supposed they were all too familiar with how idle and pointless shch a thing was). Instead... he saw a quiet acceptance, a soft sense of unfortunate- even a faint trace of something that could have been pride. Noct did not look disgusted at all, if anything there was a mild defence set in his eyes, alongside a fondness that couldn’t be diminished... and Prompto was mildly astounded. 

“We were meant to get to Altissia without a hitch- we were meant to just sign a stupid peace treaty.” Noct pointed out. After the near literal trainwreck of a ride they’d been on since then, the peace treaty no longer really elicited a strong reaction from them- except for a slight bitter wish of when things used to be easier- but Prompto frowned a little anyway. ‘Fair’ and ‘just’ should have been seen him getting ready to be standing best man for his friend’s wedding right now, but lately ‘should’ didn’t seem to hold as much weight as it once did- and he thought that was exactly the point Noct was trying to make.  
“Things just don’t work out that way. None of this was ‘meant’ to happen- we’ve all just gotta to make do with what we got.” Prompto almost nodded, absentmindedly, this much at least he could agree with. 

“...and I’m damn happy you ended up in the same school as me.” 

Prompto’s eyes finally jumped up to meet Noct’s- wide and shocked, as the wheels of his crashing self esteem set to go flying off a cliff finally came to a screeching halt. His jaw slackened at the sincerity radiation from the prince’s crystal blues eyes- bright and warm, with a genuine gratitude, and that understated affection that was so difficult for him to make visible. Noct’s affection was usually in his quiet deeds, and considerations. It made the rare times he could actually see it in his eyes absolutely breathtaking- and Noct didnt back down from the gaze either. Didn’t shy away- for once, didn’t get embarrassed. 

His eyes remained warm, as a subtle, slanted grin spread across his face- a much more casual look that Prompto was far more used to.  
“Now, come on- your prince commands it.” He demanded, the familiar tease of the rank that held no substance between them making Prompto feel lighter than he had in a long time. Distantly, he noticed he hadn’t quite realised just how afraid he was that things were going to change between them, just how much he’d wanted this, until right this moment- with the reassurance that they were, at least in Noct’s eyes, exactly as before... and Astrals be damned if Prompto didn’t want that too. 

Gladio snorted, stepping away as the procession started to wander, moving ever onwards.  
“Since when were you ever his ‘prince’ of anything?” He quipped, drawing a slight petulant scowl from Noct, even as the tug of a smirk admitted his agreement of the statement.  
“Only ever treated you like some fussy high school kid.” Ignis agreed, with a fond, somewhat aloof smile- and it seemed like he too was feeling the sense of the return to how things were. “Never so much as a highness towards you.” He noted. 

Noct smiled. It was no secret he was a little bit proud of the fact he had someone that didn’t treat him any differently, despite his name and title. He reacted to the moniker of Prompto’s ‘dude’ far more easily than he ever did a ‘highness’ or ‘majesty.’ Prompto smiled too. The raven haired glanced back to give him a deliberate, knowing, yet somehow teasing look- paradoxically soft and sharp as always. 

“You never cared where I came from.” He told him, with a well practiced shrug that failed its attempt at nonchalance. “Least I could do is return the favour.” 

Prompto stares after them for a moment, still gathering what exactly had just happened. For a while there, he was half expecting them to throw him out- brand him as a traitor, Niff death machine, and wish to never see him again- or be forever tainted by the knowledge of his robo-soldier heritage. Instead, he somehow felt more calm and acceptance than he had in... well, ever. Fears and worries he’d had ever since he was kid melting away, as he realised. All that... All that they just discovered about him... and they still wanted him by their side. 

He’d spent nearly the entire time they’d been together plagued with doubts: that they never really knew him, that if they ever saw the real him, they’d leave- they’d go and never come back. But now... they’d heard far worse than his schoolboy secrets. 

They knew he was Empire born and bred- intended for a life serving in a metal cage, that was to become his coffin after a life of murder at the empire’s command. A minor reign of terror to end only with his death at the hands of a crown soldier. Heck, they’d fought MTs first hand- they knew how ruthless, and soulless, and how bitterly cruel they could be in their quest to follow orders... That could’ve been him. He’d just told them about his intended place as one of them, and yet... they all just took it in stride. 

As though the past simply just didn’t matter to them- like he was more than the path intended for him at birth. That it didn’t even matter, because all that really mattered... was him. 

They’d seen his worst- and his potential worst- and they didn’t consider him any lesser for it. They didn’t turn away. Despite everything... they still cared. 

A rush of dampness suddenly flooded his eyes, as he attempted to suck in a quiet breath of overwhelmed emotion, trying not to let show. It felt like tears of joy were spilling out from his overflowing heart. 

Stuck in a dull, musty bunker at the heart of the empire’s capital, after being stuffed into a personal torture chamber and murdered just minutes ago... and there he was- somehow feeling happier than he’d ever been in the 20 odd years he’d been alive. He almost laughed at the aburdity of it, staring at the backs of the other three guys. 

He broke out into wide smile that couldn’t have been held back if he’d tried. He shook his head for a moment, trying to gather himself as he noticed them walking just a short number of steps ahead. Noct standing at the head, as always. He sucked in a large breath, and let it puff up his chest. 

His prince- no... his best friend was waiting for him. He’d best catch up. 

Just a skittery dash of joyous steps- more pep in his step than a dancing chocobo- later, he finally managing to stand by their side... as equals. For once, not feeling ashamed. 

He soaked in the moment, and let himself fall into step alongside them- savouring it with an affection that only he knew. He could forget everything else, he could forget the world, and the empire, and the darkness- because this right here? 

This was exactly where he was meant to be.

**Author's Note:**

> My first ever ffxv guys!!! I promise I’m not all angsty, I swear XD not that the next upcoming fic will convince you of that but there will be fluff eventually!!! Thanks for the read!! I hope you enjoyed!!!
> 
> Imagine if this had been a real scene though 0.0


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